Szín
by coeurgryffondor
Summary: "What's up with the chick stuff?" / Hungary with Prussia, France, Finland and mentions of Estonia, Germany, Italy, Russia, Austria, and Belgium.


Author's note: **Hungary** (_Erzsi_) with **Prussia** (_Gil_), **France** (_Francis_), **Finland** (_Timo_) and mentions of **Estonia** (_Edouard_), **Germany** (_Ludwig_), **Italy** (_Feliciano_), **Russia** (_Ivan_), **Austria** (_Roderich_), and **Belgium** (_Emma_).

I've had this idea kicking about for ages. I think for all her masculine traits, Erzsi would love nail polish and all the colors possible.

* * *

**Szín**

1. East Berlin, German Democratic Republic, 1989

"What's up with the chick stuff?" Gil asks, throwing himself on the bed. The apartment is small, having rarely been used in the time between when Germany was partitioned and now. Erzsi sits on the floor leaning against a chair, waiting for her nail polish to dry.

"I like when my nails look nice," she replies, eyeing her Prussian friend over her shoulder. "Is there something wrong with that?"

"Not used to you trying to look beautiful, just you being beautiful." There's an honesty to his words that's all Gilbert Beilschmidt, and that's what Erzsi loves most about him.

"Thank you. I thought I should look extra nice, though, when we see your brother again." The wall would be coming down soon, the two halves reunited. Already Erzsi had the option of going west through her own border, into the country of her ex-husband, but she had to be here with Gil. Something in her felt she had to do this with him.

"Well the white is nice," the German mutters, walking to the window. "I'm sure Lutz will love it."

* * *

2. Paris, France, 1935

On Francis's bed she lounges, wearing nothing more than expensive silks. The windows are thrown up, the Frenchman standing at it with a towel about his waist, dripping wet from his bath. "Refreshed?" Erzsi teases. He grins back at her, moving to sit on the floor beside the bed.

"I like the red," he purrs as the Hungarian finishes applying the deep red nail polish. It was expensive, but Francis had taught her that she was worth it.

"Why do you take so many lovers?" she asks, shaking her head in an attempt to clear her face of hair while her nails dried. A slender, soft hand reaches out to push the hair behind her ear before the man replies.

"Because I am one for love," he whispers, "but not one for goodbyes, and no immortal lover has presented herself to me, not at least one I could tame." Erzsi smirks despite herself.

"No one will ever tame me."

"No," Francis chuckles, leaning in to steal a kiss, "no one ever will."

* * *

3. Helsinki, Finland, 1993

They were completely snowed in but Erzsi was still used to such events, Timo and her making themselves quite comfortable inside his small apartment. While she finished painting her nails a bright orange her Finnish friend had bought her as an amusing gift, the man in question got started on the drinking.

"Have you seen Edouard recently?" she inquires as her nails are left to dry. The three of them had always enjoyed each other's company, even if they were brought together by having languages so distinct from others. At least their languages were related to each other.

"He visited after Ivan last phoned him," Timo mutters and they share a knowing look. "The drinking's been getting bad."

"You know how Ivan can be," Erzsi whispers. While he hated Russia for his history with the country as much as Erzsi did, Timo also understood there was something more there. "You once cared for him."

"I'd rather paint my whole body that shade of orange-" he points to her nails, now sticky "-than admit that in public." That has the woman laughing.

* * *

4. Berlin, Germany, 1945

"You don't have to do this," she mutters for what feels like the thousandth time, strong German hand holding her's steady. Carefully he applies the creamy yellow liquid to each nail; Ludwig is freakishly well suited for this.

"I do not want them to think," he says through gritted teeth, "that you were ill treated here. That we did not have it in ourselves to take care of our women." What Erzsi knows he means is that Ludwig wants her to look proud when the Allies take the city, because he loves her and cannot see her disgraced.

"The color is very nice," she says for something to fill the space. The tint is less bright, more golden. Above them there's the sound of something exploding. Erzsi both dreams of leaving this bunker and dreads that day.

"I found it special for you." Finished Ludwig blows on her nails to dry them. Erzsi lets him, as a way of saying goodbye.

* * *

5. Turin, Italy, 1942

Feliciano's hands shake a little as he gets to the ends but Erzsi stays quiet, smiling as Ludwig speaks on the phone. "Yes, tomorrow, ten in the morning. Understood. Yes. Goodbye." There's a click.

"Thank you," Erzsi sighs, Feliciano distracted as he watches Ludwig move. In the light the deep green glistens; she hopes it's still shiny when it dries and that it doesn't chip too much before Roderich comes out. He's always hated chipped polish.

"That wasn't good was it?" the young Italian asks in his high voice, Hungarian eyes sweeping from him to the young German. Ludwig says nothing, face unchanged, his shoulders dropping. "Is there anything I can do to help?" The German is already shaking his head.

"No, no," he insists, "but thank you for the offer." Feliciano bounces to him, kissing him gently on the lips, before leaving.

"He means well," Erzsi points out. Ludwig smiles a little at that.

"And that's the problem."

* * *

6. Leningrad, Soviet Union, 1973

A deep, rich voice sounds throughout the hotel room as the Hungarian satellite finishes touching up her nails, dark blue to match the dress Ivan had bought her. They had seen this particular ballet before but Erzsi had quite enjoyed it and so her Russian lover was treating her to a second showing of it.

Emerging from the bathroom he towels his hair dry, moving to search for clothes. "I put them on the bed," Erzsi mutters, "with the rest of your things."

"Köszönöm," thank you, Ivan sings, his song continuing even now. Lazily she watches him dress himself, shirt stretching over his broad shoulders, the way his pants have to taper in to follow the lines of his legs. "Szép vagy," you're pretty, the man continues, kissing at her neck.

"You only say that," Erzsi counters in Russian, "because you have trouble telling me I'm beautiful."

"I will have no trouble showing you," he purrs, pressing against her lips for a chaste kiss, "later tonight."

* * *

7. Vienna, Austria-Hungary, 1917

"What is it?" Erzsi asks, eyeing the bottle suspiciously.

"Nail polish," Roderich informs his wife proudly, picking up the bottle and holding it in his open hand for her. "Very expensive."

"I thought nail polish was for scandalous women," the Hungarian purrs, reaching out to take the bottle. The liquid inside is purple, her Austrian lover's favorite color.

"You will change that," and without realizing how close he had been Erzsi is suddenly kissed, relaxing as she wraps her arms around his neck. "I heard of it," Roderich explains, "and thought you might come to like it. It seems like something you would take to."

"It sounds wonderful dearest, thank you." Shaking the bottle to watch the liquid move around in its glass cage, Erzsi decides that she should start now with experimenting with the nail polish. "No time like the present."

It's awkward at first, spreading it; Roderich calls for one of the servants to come and do it instead. The Hungarian can't say she objects to any of it.

"Whenever you wear it," the Austrian says, head on her shoulder, "think of me."

"I always will," his wife assures him.

* * *

8. Brussels, Belgium, 1999

"You really like nail polish don't you?" Emma teases as she bustles in from the kitchen with a bottle of champagne. Erzsi's still unsure about having a surprise party for the Belgian's brother but Emma seems quite happy so the Hungarian goes along to please her.

"I don't know how I lived without it, to be perfectly honest," Erzsi admits. Plopping down beside her Emma smiles.

"Who gave you your first bottle?"

"Roderich," she sighs and both women smile knowingly. "I think most of the men I've loved have given me bottles, at one point or another."

"Which do you love more," Emma challenges, "the men, or their polish?"

"I'll tell you one thing, polish has never been banished to the couch." The women howl with laughter.

"You don't think black's a bit… harsh?" her friend asks but Erzsi shakes her head.

"No no; I've worn every color of the rainbow somehow but black, it was time to change that. Besides, it's a bit gray don't you think?"

In the distance the doorbell rings, Emma standing to get it while calling back over her shoulder, "Oh, I like it, you must tell me where you go it."


End file.
